Dr House Takes a Vacation
by House's Girl
Summary: Exactly how would Dr. Gregory House spend his vacation?


_This one-shot was written for the July Friday Night House/OC Challenge. The theme: Vacation. Enjoy!_

**Dr. House Takes a Vacation **

Gregory House stood at the nurse's station of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital with his backpack slung over his shoulder and his left arm raised and slightly bent at the elbow.

"5...4...3...2...1," he counted aloud as the hospital-issue clock on the wall and his ridiculously old Timex watch synched up to announce the five o'clock hour and the start of his long-awaited vacation. He was officially free for an entire week and out of the clutches of the clinic monster, Lisa Cuddy, PPTH Dean of Medicine.

"Vacation Time," he announced loudly to the nurses, the remaining clinic patients and a highly unamused Dean of Medicine.

"I have every confidence that all you lovely sick people will be saved from whatever sniffles or crotch rot you may have. I will see you all in a week."

"Enjoy your time off," Cuddy said as she rolled her eyes at the departing House. "I know I will."

House genuinely smiled at her remark as he walked out of the door with a noticeable pep in his limp.

Gregory House was never really one for vacations. Most of that having to do with the fact that his family had traveled every two to three years from base to base, as he and his mother begrudgingly dragged behind his overbearing, Marine Colonel father.

There just weren't that many places he needed or wanted to see anymore. He had already seen most of the world's most fascinating cities by the time he was a teenager. "Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt," had become his mantra by the time he was 16.

Now, at 49 years old, Gregory House's idea of a vacation was to sit on his comfy couch all week long alternately reading medical journals and watching monster truck rallies, General Hospital and the L Word, while eating as much pizza, Chinese takeout and Vicodin his body could stand.

He spent the first weekend of his vacation tuning up the important things in his life--his Honda Respol motorcycle, his baby grand piano and his body–courtesy of a late, late Saturday night tune up from his favorite distraction, Paula.

On Sunday morning, Wilson came over at 11 a.m. bearing bagels & cream cheese, blueberry muffins and steaming hot coffee. He and House watched the New York Nets kick the Boston Celtics'ss, watched Gravedigger run over 6 Hyundais without breaking a sweat; munched chips while mocking two really bad horror movies and a comedy, and ordered Thai takeout for dinner. Before they knew it, it was 10 p.m. and time for Wilson to go home, since he wasn't as lucky as House to be on vacation.

"Have fun tomorrow in the salt mines," House chuckled as Wilson walked out the door with a smile.

**Monday **

House woke up automatically at 9 a.m. and cursed his aching body for waking up at its regular "work" time. Didn't it know he was on vacation?

**Tuesday**

House woke up at 10 a.m., rubbed his leg, popped a Vicodin and went to the kitchen for a bowl of Cocoa Puffs. He drank a swig of orange juice from the carton and hobbled to the sofa for a long day's journey into Monster Truck madness, reruns of The L Word, General Hospital and beer.

**Wednesday **

After having toast with peanut butter and a cup of coffee for breakfast, House sat on his sofa, read an article from last month's JAMA and decided to check in with the kids.

"Got any patients?" House asked a startled Kutner.

"Uh..er...we had one, but Cuddy sent them to Gertler over at Princeton General!"

"What?!"

"Apparently, the patient's illness was within Gertler's field of specialty, so she was pretty confident that they could handle it. She didn't want to interrupt your vacation."

'What vacation?' House thought to himself. "So what are you guys doing in the meantime?"

"Cuddy has us catching up on your charting and doing clinic hours until you come back."

"Get used to it, cause I won't be back until Monday. Oh, and if you get another patient, keep him...but don't kill him. You guys need the practice."

With that, House ended the call as Kutner stood in the middle of the diagnostics conference room with his mouth open.

"Goodbye," Kutner said to a dead cell phone.

**Thursday **

"Wilson."

"House, why are you calling me? Shouldn't you be at the beach, or a museum, on an island, somewhere, anywhere instead of sitting at home thinking of ways to vex me and your team?"

"Well, if you're going to be pissy, I'll just call another one of my friends."

"Hmmm...I thought I was all your friend." House smiled at Wilson's snark and then hung up on him.

**Friday - Sunday**

House awakened way too early, again, on Friday morning. He was not happy about that, but there was nothing he could do since his thigh was starting to scream much like his boredom had been screaming all week. Propping himself up in bed, he decided he had pretty much wasted an entire week doing exactly what he usually did in the evenings after work and every weekend for as long as he could remember. He had wasted enough time.

Realizing he only had this one weekend left to enjoy himself before it was time to get back to Camp PPTH and Drill Sergeant Cuddy, he dragged his butt out of bed and decided to make the most of his last free days.

After taking two Vicodin and a long hot shower, House slipped on his jeans, a black t-shirt with a faded logo that read: "Good Coffee--Better Than Prozac" and his orange-striped Nikes.

Stuffing his small duffle bag with one change of clothes, some underwear, his iPod and a dog-eared copy of Atlas Shrugged, he grabbed his cane, leather jacket, helmet and keys and headed out the door to where the Honda Respol waited at the curb ready to take him somewhere fast.

The cool New Jersey morning made House actually feel alive as he entered the freeway and zipped along the road heading due north with no real destination in mind. He didn't expect to find fun–it had been years since he'd found that, but if he was lucky, he figured he might at least find something that could peak his interest. Wasn't that what vacations were supposed to be about?

After an hour of watching trees blur by, he pulled into a small diner on the side of the road in search of relief from his throbbing leg and growling stomach.

The clock on the wall in the small 1950's-style diner said 8:00 a.m. _I must be losing my mind_, he thought as he took a seat at the counter and waited for the waitress with the great ss and long brunette braid to turn around and serve him.

_I haven't been up this early since_...House was thinking when the sound of the waitress' thick southern accent interrupted his thoughts.

"May I help you, sir?" she somehow managed to both ask and coo, making his breath hitch for the briefest portion of a second. It certainly wasn't what he was expecting.

"Coffee...and keep it coming," he said somewhat calmly.

House found the corners of his mouth turning up into a slight smile as he looked deep into her big green eyes as she turned over the coffee cup in front of him and began to pour. She didn't look much older than 35, but he figured her for at least 39 or 40. At the moment, he didn't care how old she was. He was too busy taking in her lovely face and having deliciously naughty thoughts about this misplaced southern belle.

"You're a long way from...?"

"Savannah," she said as she placed the sugar in front of him.

House was mesmerized as he listened to the honeyed tone of her voice, which could have easily sweetened his coffee. He wondered what else about her was sweet.

_We'll lay back and observe the constellations_

_And watch the moon smiling bright_

_I'll play the radio on southern stations_

_'Cause southern belles are hell at night_

The words to the old 70s song flashed through his brain. He didn't know what it was about her that was getting to him. Perhaps it was the fact that she was far from home, in a 50s diner, in the middle of New Jersey and flirting shamelessly with an old cripple like him that intrigued him. He could see in her eyes that there were answers to be found and, whatever they were, he was planning to find out.

Her name was Denise. He had read it and re-read it on the name tag that floated over her ample bosom.

Cane aside, she thought he was quite handsome for an older guy, but of course, she had always had a thing for the older ones from the time she was a teenager. _Chile, you're gonna drive me to drink _her mama would say time and again.

The scruff was attractive. The intelligence mixed with the slightest touch of sadness in those big blue eyes tugged at something in her soul. She watched his long delicate fingers as they reached for his spoon, and the simple gesture sent chills down her spine.

House was aware of the effect he was having on her as he watched her high cheekbones flush just the tiniest bit as they carried on the business of breakfast – How do you want your eggs? White or wheat toast? and talked about life in the south, the fact that he was on vacation, and what she planned to do for her vacation that was starting as soon as she went off shift at 10 a.m.

When her hand accidentally brushed his as she reached to pick up the check with the overly generous tip, both House and Denise smiled at one another, blue meeting green, considering all the possibilities their vacations could bring.

House decided then that he'd have to plan another one of these real soon.

THE END


End file.
